Connor: Is Autistic
by motionallyperpetual
Summary: Set two months post-revolution, pacifist ending, Hank opens up his home to Connor. This is a collection of several scenarios, but they all take place in the same timeline (meaning each one has happened), and will generally happen in sequence of each other.
1. Chapter 1

Set Two Months post-Detroit Revolution

?t took Hank longer than he'd like to admit to figure it out, and even longer trying to figure out _how_. Hell, he _still_ doesn't know how. And besides, who in the hell could blame him, he was head first in a shit-creek investigation for Christ's sake. Once the little shit finally completely deviated, and after the revolution, Hank couldn't help but to open up his home to him - he had nowhere to go anyhow, and he'd be _damned_ if he watched another son die; if not to some bullshit anti-android hoodlums, then to a misunderstanding with the wrong person due to his communication naïvety, _(built for "harmonious and seamless integration with humans" my left ass cheek)_. But in the two month's Hank's watched the dust settle over the shit-show that is Detroit, he's had opportunity to watch Connor. As he's watched him, flipping his 1994 quarter between his hands as his LED flickers, or laying flat on the floor, eye's shut with Sumo draped over his body, Hank's eyes can't help but drift over to his late son's bedroom, untouched since the day he left it for the last time.

Connor is autistic.

Hank sips on his coffee.


	2. Chapter 2 Blanket

Set Two Months post-Detroit Revolution

It was late. Too late for Hank to be awake on his day off, but lo and behold, here he was, wide awake at half past one in the morning. He rubbed at his face tiredly, kicking his duvet off his body. Sitting up, Hank swung his legs off the side of his bed. ' _Better check on the little shit head',_ he thought to himself, _'and maybe make some coffee while i'm at it.'_ He knew that Connor didn't necessarily _sleep,_ that instead he " _idled_ " to " _process information,_ " but in Hank's book, that counted as sleeping. Hank stumbled sleepily down the hallway and into the living room, blinking away his drowsiness. Instead of finding Connor 'idle' on the couch, Hank located him sprawled on the floor, _next_ to the couch. On top of Connor, however, lay Sumo, their 180 pound Saint Bernard; Connor's arms resting loosely around the dog's neck. Hank exhaled slowly, tilting his head up to the ceiling as he took in the scene. This was not the first time Hank had happened upon this - he previously chalked it up as the result of a long session of playing. Closing his eyes, he thinks back to his first days of police work; _'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern_.' Hank realizes why Connor is doing this. His thoughts turn to Cole. Turning on his heels, the bereaved father makes his way to the hallway closet, inches away from his son's door. _His first son's door,_ Hank unnecessarily reminds himself. He opens the door and bends down to the last shelf. His eyes flicker between his options. His late wife had insisted that they buy children and adult sizes for Cole, because _"there is a sale,"_ and _"for when he grows."_ Hank closes his eyes briefly, pushing away his pain. This was about Connor. Hank, avoiding the navy blue blanket with soccer balls printed all over it, instead reached for the fairly sized grey one, covered with simple grey lines. Closing the door, he toddled back to the living room, the twenty-five-pound blanket spilling over his arms. He hoped this would do. Hank slightly bent over Connor's face before speaking, "Connor? Connor, wake up, son." Hank shifted the blanket to one arm and made to touch the android, but he didn't have to. Hank withdrew his arm as his LED flickered yellow, and eye's popped open. "Lieutenant! Sorry, I just, let me," Connor startled awake, gently pushing Sumo off of him and sitting up. Connor looks up at the lieutenant, confusion evident on his face. "Where did you get that? Why do you have it?" Connor asks, head tilting to the right ever so slightly. A quick scan tells him it's a weighted blanket, twenty-five pounds, retailing for approximately two hundred and thirty dollars. Hank sighs, rotating his neck until it pops before answering his question, "Listen, kid, I know you like the fluffy food-moocher, but I was thinkin' you could give Sumo a break and use this," Hank lifts the blanket up in his arms as a demonstration, "..and how many times do I have to tell you to call me Hank when we're home?" Connor stares up at Hank in the silence that follows his speech, LED a solid yellow. Hank slightly shifts his weight to one hip, before continuing, "Well? Get off the floor and on the couch. You're not a fuckin' street rat or some shit." Connor blinks rapidly before his body responds. Toeing his shoes off, he picks himself off of the floor and makes the short trip to the couch, laying down on it. With his legs hanging off of the edge of the couch slightly, he looks over to Hank for whatever he may have to say next. Hank remained silent, moving over to the android and worldlessly distributing the blanket over him. Connors' eyes fluttered shut as he processed the pressure on him. A soft, close-mouthed smile made its way onto his face. Hank made his way over to the lamp, dimming it before turning back to his son. He noticed how his feet hung off of the couch. His eyes drifted to Cole's room for the second time that night. ' _Not right now,'_ he thought to himself, shaking his head. "Goodnight kid," Hank called out to Connor as he made his way back to his bedroom. "Thank you...Hank," Connor called back, hesitantly. Hank stopped in the middle of the hallway at his words, turning his head back to him, "Sleep tight, son." Connor kept his eyes closed, LED flickering before deciding on blue.

Hank made it to his bedroom, leaving his door slightly ajar before settling back in bed. Finally closing his eyes, the lieutenant took a deep breath. "Fuckin' A," he exhaled to himself, "I forgot my fuckin' coffee."

Hank decided he was alright with that.


End file.
